


Shut Up and Dance

by MPants



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MPants/pseuds/MPants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The band started up again, this time with a cover of a song Clarke knew. The lyrics weren’t anything philosophers would be studying a hundred years from now, but in that moment, they spoke to her. She set her drink down on the bar a little more forcefully than she meant to, and, without looking back, grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the stage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

_Oh don't you dare look back,_  
_Just keep your eyes on me._  
_I said, “You’re holding back …”_  
_She said, “Shut up, and dance with me!”_  
  
_This woman is my destiny ..._  
  
+++  
  
Clarke Griffin was tired. Physically, mentally and (most of all) emotionally. She could deal with the physical and mental exhaustion that came with taking a full load of pre-med classes and holding down a nearly full time job; after-all, she’d made the choices that led her there. But the emotional drama, most of which wasn’t her doing, was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.  
  
“I’m done,” she announced to her apartment’s empty living room as she dropped her backpack onto the floor by the door.  
  
“With?” The voice came from somewhere further into the apartment.  
  
“Everything,” Clarke replied as she kicked her ratty Chucks off in the middle of the hallway.  
  
“Perfect.” Raven Reyes poked her head out of a doorway and mumbled around a mouthful of food.  
  
“Wow, thanks,” Clarke pulled her hoodie over her head and dropped it at her feet before entering the small cubby that passed as their kitchen. Raven stood at the counter, scooping peanut butter straight from the jar with a giant serving spoon and shoveling it in her mouth.  
  
“You know what I mean,” Raven responded, but it sounded more like “chew knowf vat I mhean.”  
  
Clarke sighed. “Rave—”  
  
Raven swallowed, and smiled. “Monty and Jasper will be here in a half hour.” She kissed Clarke on the cheek, leaving a film of peanutty oil, as she walked out of the kitchen.  
  
Clarke felt like lying on the floor with the rest of the belongings she’d stripped off her tired body and not moving until Monday morning, but she knew better than to try and argue with Raven. Slumping her shoulders, she muttered “damn mechanics,” as she shuffled toward her room.  
  
+++  
  
Clarke emerged only when she heard excited voices coming from the living room. She’d been lying, face down, on her bed for the past twenty minutes, but had finally roused enough energy to put on a clean shirt and a coat of mascara.  
  
“Hey, Clarke!”  
  
Clarke raised her hand in a limp approximation of a greeting before flopping to the floor where her shoes lay. Jasper’s enthusiasm was usually a welcome distraction, but Clarke wasn’t going to pretend that she was the least bit interested in being chipper.  
  
“Long week?” Jasper asked. Clarke nodded as she tied her laces.  
  
A giant cup of iced coffee was thrust into her face. Clarke’s eyes lit up and she looked at the bearer of the oh-so-welcome gift. “Monty, if I had the strength to get up off the floor right now, I would kiss you.” Monty smiled, somewhat sheepishly.  
  
Raven looked over from her perch on the arm of the couch. “ _That’s_ what you’re wearing?”  
  
Clarke looked down at her form-fitting T-shirt, which read “Recluse” in white lettering across a black background. “This is as good as it gets tonight,” she replied. She looked at Raven, who was wearing at least three layers of camisoles, the top one streaked with something that looked suspiciously like engine grease. “And you’re one to talk.”  
  
Raven snorted. “It’s a good thing The Ark doesn’t have a dress code.”  
  
“Like we’d go anywhere that did,” Clarke replied.  
  
“Point.” Raven rose and grabbed her keys from their spot on the coffee table. Clarke raised one of her arms, limply, waving her hand toward the guys. The other was wrapped tightly around the coffee cup, which she managed to drink nearly half of before Jasper reached her.  
  
“Lush.” Jasper laughed as he pulled her from the floor.  
  
+++  
  
Although the coffee was helping, Clarke knew that she’d need something with more of a kick if she was going to make it through the night. When the group reached The Ark, Clarke went straight for the bar, ordering a Red Bull and vodka. Being pre-med, she knew how bad the combination of energy drink and alcohol was, but The Ark didn’t serve espresso in IV bags.  
  
She ordered for the other three, too, and took all four drinks to their usual table. “Who’s playing tonight?” she asked, as she squeezed in the booth next to Monty.  
  
“Some band called Hidden Until 16,” he replied.  
  
Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I don’t know,” Monty said with a grin.  
  
“The lead singer’s in my chemistry class ...” Jasper started, without taking his eyes from the stage.  
  
“... and he’s got a huge crush on her,” Monty finished.  
  
Raven snickered. “When does Jasper not have a crush on someone?”  
  
“Never,” Monty and Clarke replied in unison. Jasper scoffed, good naturedly.  
  
As she sipped her drink, Clarke let her eyes roam around the bar. The Ark’s typical clientele was all present; it was a strange mix of locals and the college kids who’d rather drink beer and listen to indie bands than pay $10 for a watered down drink at Mount Weather, the town’s attempt at a dance club.  
  
The lights dimmed, and Clarke leaned her head back against the tall seat. She closed her eyes as the first notes rang out, but opened them when the lyrics began. The lead singer, a pretty, petite girl with a dangerous glint in her eye, strutted across the stage as if she was stalking prey. Her voice was smoky and deeper than one would assume by looking at her. She was damn good.  
  
Clarke poked Jasper in the ribs. “Is that her?”  
  
Jasper nodded without looking back. “Her name’s Octavia.”  
  
“She’s damn good,” Clarke voiced her earlier thought. The rest of the band—all girls, Clarke was surprised and a little delighted to see—were all equally good.  
  
As the band finished up their first song, and moved into their second, people begun to move in front of the stage. Jasper grabbed Raven’s hand and pulled her from the booth. Clarke laughed at the look of annoyance on her roommate’s face, but stopped, abruptly, as she was pushed from the booth from behind.  
  
“Traitor,” she shouted back at Monty as Raven caught her wrist and pulled her along.  
  
The three grabbed a spot near the stage. Jasper started flailing along to the fast-paced song, and Raven and Clarke exchanged an amused grin. Raven leaned closer, so that she could be heard. “I’m not nearly buzzed enough to match that,” she said. Clarke nodded and went for the bar, ordering two House Specials. As she waited for the drinks, she felt a presence come up beside her. She didn’t bother looking until Miller, her favorite bartender (and owner’s son) passed two glasses her way.  
  
“ _What_ are those?” A deep voice said from her left.  
  
Clarke looked at the drinks, which were both bubbling slightly. “I—I don’t actually know,” she said as she turned her face toward the voice. “I just know they do the trick better than anything else.” Clarke expected to see a face, but instead found herself staring at a broad chest.  
  
“The trick being …?” The voice trailed off as Clarke raised her chin, her eyes traveling up the man’s (gorgeously tanned) neck, past his (well-defined) jaw, and over his (adorably freckled) cheekbones.  
  
“To help you forget,” Clarke replied as she finally met his eyes.  
  
He smiled—no, more like smirked—at her from above. “To forget what, Princess?”  
  
Clarke’s guard immediately went up. Of course this guy was one of those guys. He was way too hot not to be.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Clarke grabbed her drinks from the bar, tossed a $10 bill on the counter and headed back to her friends. She heard Miller chuckle as the (really unfairly hot) jackass turned to him and asked, “What did I say?”  
  
+++  
  
The band took a short break after a few more songs, and Clarke returned to the bar for another round of House Specials. She was feeling much better than she had been when she got home earlier that evening, but deep in the back of her mind, she knew it was all a placebo. Everything that had made her so exhausted was still waiting to be dealt with, but for the rest of the night, she was going to do her best to not worry about it.  
  
The drinks—and their questionable ingredients—were certainly helping.  
  
Miller slid her drinks across the bar, and Clarke turned to pay. A large hand slapped a $20 down before Clarke was able to pull her bills from her pocket. She looked up and scowled. The ass had returned. He smirked down at her, his messy curls flopping (sexily) over his forehead. Clarke felt her face flush of its own accord as she imagined brushing his hair back from his face. She quickly turned her face away and shot daggers at his (obviously strong) hand. She reached out a finger and poked at it, not softly, trying (in vain) to ignore how warm and soft his skin was.  
  
“Nope,” she stated, forcefully.  
  
“C’mon, Princess—” he started.  
  
Clarke looked up again, hoping that her many years of dealing with Resting Bitch Face would come in handy. “I don’t need you to pay for my drinks.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you did,” he replied. “I just think we got off on the wrong foot, and I’m trying to be nice.”  
  
“Being nice involves snotty nicknames and asinine assumptions, hmm?” Clarke was startled to realize that her finger was not only still on his hand, but that it had begun drawing lazy circles on his skin. She drew her hand away, but not without a small bit of hesitation.  
  
He chuckled. Clarke felt her pulse quicken.  
  
“Nope,” she muttered, this time more to her traitorous body than to him.  
  
Miller returned to check on them, and the man handed his money over before Clarke could complain again. “One of those for me, too, please,” he asked.  
  
The politeness startled Clarke. This guy was all over the place, and Clarke’s tired and alcohol-dulled brain struggled to keep up. She picked up her drink off the bar, but didn’t make a move to go back onto the dance floor.  
  
“I don’t get you,” she said, to no one in particular.  
  
“You don’t know me,” he replied, not bothering to check if she was talking to him. “But you could …” He trailed off, his words filled with an edge that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.  
  
Clarke bit down on the stirrer in her glass, and weighed the pros and cons.  
  
_Pro:_ He was gorgeous as hell.  
  
_Con:_ He was cocky as shit.  
  
_Pro:_ He seemed to have good manners.  
  
_Con:_ He called her Princess.  
  
_Pro:_ He looked seriously good in that henley shirt he was wearing.  
  
_Pro:_ The fit of his jeans—yeah, she’d noticed—wasn’t bad either.  
  
_Pro:_ He bought her a drink.  
  
_Pro:_ **He wasn’t Finn.**  
  
The band started up again, this time with a cover of a song Clarke knew. The lyrics weren’t anything philosophers would be studying a hundred years from now, but in that moment, they spoke to her. She set her drink down on the bar a little more forcefully than she meant to, and, without looking back, grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the stage.


	2. First Impressions (Bellamy POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke was still staring into the distance when Octavia and the rest of the girls started up again. Bellamy was about to reach out and nudge her, to make sure she was OK, when she suddenly set her drink down on the bar.
> 
> Bellamy just went with it when she grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the stage, but the smile that crossed his face was nothing but real this time.

_Oh don't you dare look back,_   
_Just keep your eyes on me._   
_I said, “You’re holding back …”_   
_She said, “Shut up, and dance with me!”_

_This woman is my destiny ..._

+++

Bellamy Blake was annoyed. Friday nights were usually his favorite night of the week. Friday meant two days off from classes—which meant two days off from office hours filled with unprepared undergrads looking for yet another extension on their papers. Friday nights were supposed to be relaxing and fun. But when Professor Kane called, asking Bellamy to cover his Friday evening class, it’s not like Bellamy could say no. Kane was, after all, his advisor—and the man who got him his position as teaching assistant.

Bellamy had barely put his keys in the lock of his apartment when the door flew open.

“You are SO LATE.” A petite girl stood in the doorway, a scowl darkening her normally pretty face.

“O—”

“No, Bell. You know what tonight is,” Octavia glowered up at him, the effect made even more menacing thanks to her dark eye makeup.

“Oh, shit.” Bellamy quickly realized that this Friday night wasn’t supposed to be a relaxing one. This Friday night was the night Octavia and her band—Hidden Until 16—had their first paying show at The Ark, a local bar. And because she wasn’t quite 18, she needed a guardian to go with her.

Octavia stomped over the threshold and took Bellamy by the arm. “We were supposed to leave HALF AN HOUR ago. Maya, Harper and Monroe are all already there, warming up.”

Bellamy barely had time to throw his bag into the apartment and close and lock the door before Octavia was pulling him down the hallway.

+++

Bellamy hadn’t been to The Ark in a while. It’s not that he didn’t appreciate the atmosphere and the cheap(ish) drinks—and the lack of dude-bros—but since starting grad school, he hadn’t really had the time to go out drinking. (Or hadn’t made the time, whatever.) Plus, with Octavia starting her freshman year, and the TA job, his life was pretty busy.

When they arrived at the bar, Octavia unbuckled her seatbelt before Bellamy had even put the car in park. She raced toward the door and waved at the stern-looking bouncer on her way through. Bellamy followed behind, a bit slower.

“She’s with the band,” Bellamy announced to the bouncer, “and I’m with her.”

The large man smiled, which was an odd sight to see on such a serious face. “All good, man.”

Bellamy walked into the dimly lit room and headed straight for a spot at the bar, out of the way of the other patrons, but with a good line of sight to the stage. He ordered a beer, which he planned on nursing for the rest of the night.

Octavia had disappeared backstage, so Bellamy took the opportunity to look around the bar. It wasn’t packed—it was still pretty early—but there were enough people that O and her friends wouldn’t feel like a total failure if no one else showed up.

His eyes roamed over the mix of locals and students, and landed on a booth across the way. It was filled with two guys and two girls. One of the guys Bellamy recognized from one of his TA classes; his name was J … something … and he was extremely focused on the stage. Bellamy scowled when he realized that J-something was staring intently at Octavia. They’d have to have words later.

He was about to look toward the stage, but the girl sitting in the booth across from Jasper caught his eye. Her head rested against the booth’s tall back, and her eyes were closed. Her (like-porcelain) skin shone in the dim light, her (oh-so-soft looking) lips were pursed in a near pout, and her (blonde, lightly waved) hair fanned out across the pleather. Bellamy felt himself staring, but couldn’t look away. Until Octavia began singing, that is, when the girl opened her eyes and focused on his sister. Bellamy coughed, and looked down at his beer.

The bartender chuckled. Bellamy looked up, a glint in his eye that dared the guy to say anything. But the bartender was practiced at his job, and merely nodded at Bellamy’s beer. “Want another?”

“No,” Bellamy growled. Then he shook his head. Clearing his throat, he tried to be civil. “Thanks.”

The bartender smiled and stuck out his hand. “I’m Nathan Miller. But around here, it’s just Miller.”

Bellamy shook his hand. “Bellamy Blake.” He tilted his head toward the stage. “That’s my sister, Octavia.”

“Wow, really?” Miller looked at the girl as she sang. “She’s good.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy ran a hand through his already messy hair. “She’s been dreaming of this for ever. She says she’s never felt more free than when she’s onstage.”

Miller quirked an eyebrow.

Bellamy shrugged. “We had an, uh, interesting childhood.”

Miller didn’t press. He obviously knew what he was doing behind that bar.

The band moved seamlessly into their second song, and Miller left to serve some people further down. Out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy saw movement at the table across the table across the way. J-something dragged his friend out of the booth, who in turn had grabbed the pretty blonde and was dragging her as well. But as soon as they got in front of the stage, the blonde said something to her friends and turned toward the bar.

“Her name’s Clarke,” Miller shouted, with a smile.

+++

Bellamy moved to stand next to Clarke, trying not to invade her space, but wishing to be heard over the band. He took a deep breath, but it didn’t help to calm him. Instead, all he could smell was her. And she smelled good—like a forest after a rainstorm—which Bellamy realized quickly was a weird thought to have. He shook his head to clear it a bit as Miller placed Clarke’s drinks on the bar.

“ _What_ are those?”

Clarke looked at the drinks. “I—I don’t actually know,” she said as she turned her face toward Bellamy. “I just know they do the trick better than anything else.”

Bellamy bit back a laugh as Clarke’s face slowly traveled to his. “The trick being …?”

Clarke’s eyes finally found Bellamy’s, and he was pleased to see a fierceness in their (stormy blue) depths.

“To help you forget,” Clarke replied.

Bellamy smiled—the smile that always came off more like a smirk, the smile that most women found appealing. “To forget what, Princess?”

Apparently, Clarke wasn’t one of those women. Bellamy could see her shoulders tense, and her eyes narrowed slightly before she rolled them in distaste.

Grabbing her drinks from the bar, Clarke tossed a $10 bill on the counter and headed back to her friends without so much as a “nice to meet you.”

Bellamy turned to Miller, who was chuckling under his breath. “What did I say?”

+++

Bellamy moved back to his spot at the end of the bar, feeling equal parts annoyed and embarrassed. That hadn’t gone well, _at all_.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Clarke danced with her friends. He groaned, softly, to himself. Even before his lame “Princess” line finished making its way out of his mouth, he knew he’d made the wrong move. Although Clarke looked like sugar and spice and everything nice on the surface, there was a strength about her that couldn’t be denied.

Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, cursing himself for being an idiot. Strong women were his kryptonite.

Miller finished serving a couple their drinks and then moved down to where Bellamy was sitting.

“That was pretty rough, dude.”

Bellamy sighed. “No shit.”

“I suppose I should have warned you about Clarke …” Miller trailed off.

Bellamy half-glared at the bartender. “Warned me? Girl practically took my head off with that eye roll. So, yeah, I could have used a heads up.”

Miller laughed. “Regardless of what I told you, you probably would have run afoul of her temper pretty quickly. Clarke’s got a wall built up around her that’s like 100 ft thick, with barbed wire both embedded in it and rolled across the top—”

Bellamy leaned back on the stool. “Dodged a bullet there, then.”

Miller continued, “—but she’d do practically anything to protect her friends. She’s crazy smart, too, and a talented artist, if rumors are to be believed. Plus, she’s got a kickass sense of humor, even if it does run a little darker than mine.”

Bellamy quirked an eyebrow. “So, what you’re saying is that she’s amazing, but takes work.” Miller nodded. “So, why haven’t you gone after her?”

Bellamy watched as Miller’s eyes traveled toward the table where Clarke’s friends had been sitting. Only one of them was still seated, a quiet looking boy with black hair that fell nearly into his eyes. He leaned over the table, intently focused on whatever was currently on his phone’s screen. He tapped it, occasionally, with an aggressiveness belied by his understated appearance.

“Ah.” Bellamy grinned. “So that means you’re up to be my wingman, right?”

Miller didn’t appear to completely be on board with the idea, but Bellamy pressed on. “Tell me more about Clarke.”

+++

The band played a couple more songs before taking a short break. Bellamy spent most of that time grilling Miller for information about Clarke, but the bartender would only give him the basics: pre-med student; her last relationship ended in an ugly way; lives off-campus with the other girl in their group, who apparently also had something to do with the breakup. Bellamy tried to get more details about the ex situation, but Miller either purposefully stayed mum, or didn’t have any additional info.

Bellamy figured it was as good of a place to start than any, so when he saw Clarke ask Miller for a new round of drinks, he decided to make another move.

Miller slid her drinks across the bar, but before Clarke could pay, Bellamy slapped a $20 onto the semi-sticky wood. He looked down at Clarke as she looked up, and grinned—aming this time for more genuine, less “arrogantly attractive.”

For a split second, Bellamy could swear he saw Clarke blush. But she quickly turned her gaze to his hand. “Nope,” she stated, as she poked a finger into his skin. Bellamy couldn’t help but notice how small her hands were.

“C’mon, Princess—” he started. Bellamy knew he shouldn’t be using the nickname, after the response it had gotten earlier in the night, but he couldn’t resist.

Clarke looked up at him, a scowl on her (really, really beautiful) face. “I don’t need you to pay for my drinks.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you did,” Bellamy replied. “I just think we got off on the wrong foot, and I’m trying to be nice.”

Bellamy’s grin grew when he felt Clarke’s finger start to draw lazy circles on his hand. He shifted slightly; even the slightest touch of her skin on his was making his mind wander to places he wasn’t ready to go … yet.

“Being nice involves snotty nicknames and asinine assumptions, hmm?” Clarke looked at her hand like it had started moving on it’s own. But Bellamy was pleased to see that when she drew it away, she did so slowly.

Bellamy chuckled. The “DO NOT APPROACH” warning in Clarke’s eyes dimmed.

“Nope,” she muttered, almost too soft for Bellamy to hear.

Miller returned to check on them, and Bellamy handed over his money before Clarke could complain again. “One of those for me, too, please,” he asked, with a wink aimed solely at Miller.

“I don’t get you,” Clarke said.

Bellamy wasn’t sure that she was really talking to him, but he answered anyway. “You don’t know me. But you could …” He trailed off, hoping this second time was the charm. Clarke didn’t seem like a three strikes type, and he was already on shaky ground.

Clarke went quiet for a moment, and bit the straw in her glass. Bellamy wasn’t sure whether the pause was a good sign or not, but he took advantage of the moment to look at her more carefully, cataloguing what was in front of him.

  * One pair of well-loved low-top Chucks, grey. Bellamy appreciated a love of the classics.



  * One pair of jeans, dark blue. Bellamy knew little about women’s clothing, but the fabric was just the right amount of tight.



  * One T-shirt, black, with “Recluse” written across the front. Bellamy groaned internally. Miller had been right about her sense of humor.



  * Hair that fell past her shoulders, blonde. Bellamy wanted—badly—to see if it was a soft as it looked.



  * A freckle above her upper lip that actresses in the golden age of Hollywood would have killed for. Bellamy wanted to kiss it. And her lips. And that spot right below her ear. And the hollow at the base her her neck. And ...




He shook his head almost imperceptibly, knowing that his mind would continue to veer way off course if she didn’t say something soon. He had tried to be analytical, but he was a guy, after all.

Clarke was still staring into the distance when Octavia and the rest of the girls started up again. Bellamy was about to reach out and nudge her, to make sure she was OK, when she suddenly set her drink down on the bar.

Bellamy just went with it when she grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the stage, but the smile that crossed his face was nothing but real this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos! Hope you enjoyed seeing their first encounter through Bellamy's eyes. I think I'll be switching off each chapter from here on out ... but I haven't quite decided yet.
> 
> Join me in more The 100 fun [on Tumblr](http://princessandtherebel.tumblr.com).

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written fanfic, so all feedback is appreciated. I hope—time and creativity willing—to continue this soon!


End file.
